Page 17 of Moonless

I wash her hands last, opening her fingers one at a time. Two nails are torn, with dirt packed beneath them.

Her good hand closes around my thumb.

I look up. Her eyes are partly open, dark and unfocused in the firelight.

I leave my hand beneath hers.

Her gaze moves over my face and stops at my mouth. “Who are you?”

“Gulon.”

“That—wait, what the fuck is a Gulon?”

My ears flatten.

She tries to turn toward me. I slide my free hand behind her shoulder, taking the strain off the wound.

“You’re dying.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

There’s blood drying in my pelt, the climb still shaking through my legs, and she wants to dispute the answer.

“Then you’re wasting what breath you have left. Lie still.”

“I am lying still.”

She isn’t, but I lower her onto the folded cloth.

“Your shoulder is open.”

She looks down at the bandage, then past me. Her fingers loosen around my thumb.

“Where—”

I breathe out slowly through my nose.

“Inside.”

Her brow draws down. “I can see that.”

I put a fresh cloth over the wound. She watches my claws while I settle it, and I keep the pressure light until her mouth unclenches.

“Hold that.”

Her good hand comes up, but it stops short of the linen. I catch it and lay it back beneath the cloak.

“Rest, then.”

Her lips move once more. I wait, holding the pad, but her eyes close and stay closed.

I secure the bandage with her arm supported against me. When she’s settled again, I fold another fur over her feet. The fingers that held my thumb are warmer now.

I sit beside her until my legs will carry me back to the passage.

Beyond the first bend, the air moves over the damp blood on my forearms. I stop at the outer slab and listen. The river is faint from here. She came from somewhere upstream; she’ll remember enough of it to put her pack on this side of the water.

Now she’s seen me.